


the heart beat so loud, we could not ignore

by wonderfool (foolmetal)



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Or Is It?, Speculation, Spoilers, Unrequited Love, in this household we respect Dr. Ana Flores
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29830236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolmetal/pseuds/wonderfool
Summary: Post 4x06/4x07, speculation for 4x08“Change can be scary,” Buck says, “but we want your dad to be happy. Adults can get lonely too sometimes. He has a lot of friends at work, but he might be looking for someone who...can be a partner. Someone who worries about him and supports him when he’s feeling sad. Someone who loves him.”“But he already has you.”
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 96
Kudos: 884





	1. His Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i'm capable of writing more than speculation fic
> 
> that being said, spoilers for all episodes aired so far and speculation for the mid-season finale.

“How did it go last night?” 

Eddie is asking with all good intention, but Buck isn’t exactly in the mood for sharing. He’s been on three terrible first dates in the last month, is still looking over his shoulder for Veronica every time he pulls into his parking spot. Were he feeling more snappish, he might tell Eddie to focus on his job and the woman whose leg he’s bracing with a cardboard splint and medical-grade tape. 

But Eddie, even while inquiring about Buck’s love life, is a consummate professional. He asks the flight attendant, Ashley, to wiggle her toes and to rate her pain on a scale of one to ten.

“ _Seven_ ,” she winces, and Eddie nods. Buck leans down to help him secure the neck brace. 

“Well the good news is that it isn’t a broken femur,” Eddie reassures, but his gaze is back on Buck, to let him know he hasn’t forgotten his line of interrogation. “So?”

Buck rolls his eyes. “Bad, okay? It was bad. We didn’t click. She didn’t want to hear about my work stories, and she hates travel. Those are my best first date topics, tried and tested.”

“Hates travel?” 

“She’s afraid of flying,” Buck says, and the coincidence isn’t lost on him, standing on a tarmac, surrounded by commercial airliners. Eddie snickers. They transfer Ashley easily from ground to backboard.

“Good thing we hadn’t gotten this call yet. If you told her this story, she might have run for the hills.”

The call itself is mild, relative to what they often witness, with minor injuries. A fed up flight attendant decided to jump out one of the emergency exit doors before takeoff - everyone has their breaking point. The inflatable ramp was able to cushion her fall, mostly, if only she hadn’t crashed into one of the baggage handlers. And that’s when, coincidentally, the landing gear caught on fire.

“She practically did run,” Buck says, tensing slightly as they work in tandem to lift the backboard to the stretcher. “She left right after we got the check, before I even gave the server my card.”

“Rude,” Eddie says, offended on Buck’s behalf, and Buck feels the responding affection surge up inside him.

“ _Thank_ you,” he says. “Chim thought I spooked her, but I was getting weird vibes from the beginning. She kept checking her phone like she had somewhere better to be.”

A few yards away, Chimney and Hen are assessing the baggage handler who got knocked unconscious at impact. 

“What could be better than a date with LAFD’s finest?” Eddie asks, casual but earnest. It’s not just placation. He’s focused on securing Ashley’s waist, not looking at Buck, and Buck is glad because it means Eddie won’t see whatever bare emotion is playing across Buck’s face. 

“So you didn’t have a connection,” he continues. “Better to figure that out now than to waste any more time on someone who isn’t right for you.”

“I forgot I was talking to an expert,” Buck teases. Deflection is one of his strong suits. “How _is_ Ana?”

He expects Eddie’s eyes to light up, or for him to get all twitchy and shy. Instead, Eddie’s brows fold inward, twin creases forming above the bridge of his nose. 

“I haven’t told Christopher yet,” Eddie says, staring down at his hands, braced around the gurney’s metal frame. 

Buck has observed the strength of Eddie’s relationship with his son time and again, and he sometimes forgets that fatherhood wasn’t always a straight path for Eddie. The years he was physically absent from Christopher’s life bred insecurities that he’s still trying to overcome. It’s natural for parents to worry about how they raise their children, but Buck knows that Eddie is harder on himself than most. 

“He really liked Dr. Flores when she was his English teacher, didn’t he?” Buck says. “That has to count for something.”

“It’s not because I think he’ll dislike her. I just don’t want him to feel like I’m trying to replace his mother. It hasn’t been that long since Shannon...and we’d gotten so used to it being just the two of us, even before she came back.” _And left again_ goes unsaid.

“He’s a smart kid, and he loves you. He’ll understand.” In this, Buck is confident.

“Maybe I should wait a little longer. You know, to be sure it’s serious.”

“I think you should tell him,” Ashley says, jaw bumping awkwardly against her brace. Buck almost forgot she was there. “Kids have a sense for these things. Mine figured out my husband was having an affair,” she pauses to hiss in a breath as they begin to push the stretcher to the ambulance, “before I did.”

Buck and Eddie share a look and a thought over her repose form. _Yikes_.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Buck asks. “If he gets upset, maybe it would help to hear from an objective third-party.”

“What, so he can turn you against me?” Eddie chuckles, face relaxing. “I’ll let you know. Thanks, Buck.”

“Any time.”

They spin the stretcher around to load Ashley in headfirst, when she says, “My divorce will be finalized in a month, if you’re still looking for a date.” This is directed at Buck. 

It’s not like he’s opposed to dating someone who has kids and an ex, but even her name seems like a bad omen. First there was Abby, then Ali. And _Ana_ too, he realizes. What is it with all of these ‘A’ names?

He thanks Ashley for her offer before closing the ambulance doors. 

* * *

Less than a week later, Buck finds himself standing on Eddie’s doorstep. Before he even has a chance to knock, Eddie is opening the door, frazzled, shirt halfway buttoned. 

“Come in,” he says, backing up to allow Buck passage. His eyes are wide and faintly pink, either just getting over tears or on the brink. Buck knows that Eddie doesn’t allow himself to cry often, rarely in front of anyone but Bobby.

“Everything okay?” Buck asks. It’s a silly question. Clearly something is not. 

Eddie presses a fist to his forehead, closes his eyes, and exhales, “Christopher hates me.”

“Eddie,” Buck soothes, laying a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, trying to channel the same comfort Eddie had offered him after the worst day of Buck’s life. _There’s nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you._ “I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.”

But Eddie pulls away, running fingers through unkempt hair. “I told him about Ana, and he locked himself in his room. He’s never done that before.”

“Did he say anything, after you told him?”

Buck can see the wheels moving in Eddie’s head, replaying the conversation. “He just asked _why_.”

From what Carla told him, Buck knew Ana was gorgeous. According to Eddie, she was smart, easy to talk to, and good with kids. Eddie was probably lonely too. It’s not something he readily admitted to, not like Buck, but it had been years since he was in any kind of functional romantic relationship. He deserved every bit of happiness a person like Ana could give him. Still, which of those reasons would make the most sense to a ten-year-old kid?

“He probably needs some time to process things,” Buck says. “What time are you supposed to meet Ana?”

Eddie pulls out his phone, curses. “In half an hour. I should cancel.”

“What? No! Eddie, I’ve got this.”

“I asked you to babysit, not talk my kid down from a tantrum.”

“Kinda comes with the territory don’t you think?” Buck says, shooing Eddie along. “Listen, I’ll talk to Chris. We’ll order pizza, that should bring him to the table for negotiations.”

“Bribery,” says Eddie. “Nice. We’ll make a parent of you yet.”

Buck feels himself flush at the suggestion. “See? There’s nothing to worry about. Just go finish getting ready.”

Eddie cleans up nice. And fast. He’s out the door in ten minutes flat, with a hug that doubles as an apology and thank you.

Buck checks on Christopher, doesn’t receive much more than an acknowledging hum in return. He calls their favorite pizza place and busies himself in making the watermelon lemonade that Christopher loves and Eddie complains is too sweet. Buck is willing to deal with the sugar rush, so long as it cheers Christopher up. 

When the table is set, Buck tries again, holding the pizza box outside the door, its smell a far more irresistible lure than his company alone. 

“ _Pssst. Chris_ ,” Buck says. “I have pizza.”

He waits for ten seconds, twenty tops, before he hears the telltale sound of Christopher’s crutches thumping against the rug. Buck grins.

They eat dinner together as Buck regales Christopher with a story of their latest fire rescue, carefully editing out the part where Eddie fell halfway down a crumbling flight of stairs and Buck tumbled right after him. They were both fine, bruises aside. He allows Christopher two glasses of lemonade and gives him all of the black olives off his pizza because Buck knows they’re Christopher’s favorite. 

They play a few rounds of Super Smash Brothers, then switch to arts and crafts. Christopher’s gotten really into pastels lately, and Buck lays down a few sheets of newspaper over the coffee table to mitigate the mess. Buck’s never been much of an artist, but he’s proud of the rocket he sketches to match Christopher’s infinitely more impressive solar system. They sign their names at the bottom because, _That’s what real artists do_ , Christopher tells him.

If the boy is a little more solemn than usual, Buck doesn’t comment on it. Not until they’re settled on the couch, watching a Pixar film Christopher’s seen a hundred times before. 

“Did you have fun tonight?” Buck asks and feels Christopher nod from where he’s pressed against Buck’s side. 

“I have fun when we’re together,” he says, and Buck never knew it was possible to love someone else’s kid so much. 

He’s seen Bobby do it with May and Harry. Buck’s prepared to give his niece the world and more. But seeing Christopher’s honesty and intellect, getting the chance to enjoy each other’s time, and watching him grow up before his eyes fills Buck with an overwhelming sense of pride he never could have imagined.

“Me too,” Buck agrees. “I love hanging out with you.”

“And my dad?”

“And your dad,” says Buck. Maybe this is his opening. “You know your dad loves you more than anything in the world, right?”

Christopher is silent for a moment, but eventually he says, “I know.”

“Nothing will ever come between that,” Buck assures.

“Are you talking about Ms. Flores?”

_Smart kid_ , Buck thinks, has to swallow down his nerves. “Do you want to talk about Ms. Flores?”

Christopher sighs with all the drama a boy his age can muster. “Not really.”

“Oh. Okay.” Buck squirms. That’s fine. Maybe he was overstepping. Being a parent is just trial and error, isn’t it? Maybe Christopher needs more time.

“Why is Dad dating her?”

Or maybe he’s ready now. “Didn’t you like Ms. Flores, when she was your English teacher?”

“She was fine.”

“Well, your dad likes her too. He wants to get to know her better.”

“He stays out a long time,” Christopher pouts. As a firefighter, Eddie already works odd hours. It makes sense that Christopher might feel neglected, if it seems like his dad is choosing to spend even more time away from him.

“You’ll always come first for your dad. Nothing will change that. And if you miss him, you can tell him that.” It would probably ease Eddie’s anxieties, to know the angst isn’t related to who Ana is, as Christopher’s former teacher. 

“You haven’t been coming over either.”

Buck feels those words like a gut punch, hasn’t heard that accusation since Eddie tore into him, in that grocery store, what seems like a lifetime ago. There’s some truth to them. Aside from a couple times watching Christopher, they haven’t hung out all together in a while. Eddie and Buck are both busy, with work, with dates. 

“We’ll have to plan something, just the three of us. I heard the science center has a new exhibit about Ancient Egypt. It sounds pretty cool.”

But even children have their limits, where bribery is concerned.

“When Samuel’s dad started dating,” Christopher says, must be referring to a friend from school, “his girlfriend moved into their house.”

“...Sometimes that happens,” Buck says, “when two people love each other and want to spend more time together. But I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that for a while.”

“If Ms. Flores moves in, will you still come over?”

“I-I,” Buck stammers, blindsided. The thought of the Diaz family dynamic, his place in it, shifting hadn’t occurred to him. He didn’t start visiting quite as often until the tsunami, well after what happened with Shannon. “I’ll always make time for you, buddy. I promise.”

Christopher is silent, and Buck cards a hand through his wild curls, ruffling them until he earns a giggle.

“Change can be scary,” Buck says, “but we want your dad to be happy. Adults can get lonely too sometimes. He has a lot of friends at work, but he might be looking for someone who...can be a partner. Someone who worries about him and supports him when he’s feeling sad. Someone who loves him.”

“But he already has _you_.”

At once, the breath leaves Buck’s lungs. He hears the thud under his rib cage as much as he feels it, wonders if Christopher is able to feel it too, from where his head is pressed to Buck’s chest.

“It’s different,” Buck says, not sure if he’s lying, not sure of anything.

He’s Eddie’s partner, that much has been acknowledged by both of them, out loud, in the open. They’re friends, best friends, but that’s different from being in a relationship. Sure, there have been periods where Buck spent more time in Eddie’s house than his own apartment. He’s cooked for them, cleaned for them, taken Christopher on trips to the park, the zoo, the doctor’s office. They have him on speed dial. They tell each other everything, trust each other implicitly.

But Eddie isn’t attracted to him. Is that the difference?

“I don’t get it,” Christopher huffs.

“You will...when you’re older,” Buck says faintly, over the thrumming in his ears. 

He stares blankly at the pictures on the television screen, until Christopher falls asleep, curled against Buck’s chest. When the movie ends, he lets the next one run on autoplay, volume turned low.

He wishes he were anywhere but here, anyone but himself, not because of the things he wants, but the things he can’t have. This safe haven he built, too wonderful to last.

Buck hears keys in the front door, involuntarily tightens his grip on Christopher’s shirt, every muscle in his body tense, ready to spring into flight. Or fight. He hopes it’s not fight.

Eddie walks in and kicks off his shoes. From Buck’s vantage point, he watches Eddie lean against the wall, dark green dress shirt stretching across the plane of his chest. The corners of his eyes are crinkled, lips turned up in a private smile that Buck shouldn’t be witnessing, for both their sakes. He looks...smitten. That’s the only way Buck can describe it. And then Eddie looks up, and his smile grows.

“There are my boys,” Eddie says, proud. Possessive. Buck’s heart drops somewhere deep within himself, a loose coin falling through a sewer grate, submerged in something dark and vile and shameful. 

Eddie approaches, sits down on the edge of the couch. “How was it?”

“He’s okay,” Buck says. It comes out softer than he intended. “He misses you.”

Eddie looks curious at his tone but doesn’t push. He leans in to press a kiss against Christopher’s forehead, and Buck has to close his eyes. Eddie’s arms come around Christopher, one under his legs and the other behind his back, brushing against Buck’s stomach. 

“I can-” Buck starts. 

“I’ve got him,” Eddie says, lifting, until Christopher is held firmly in his grasp. The boy barely stirs, turning his face into his father’s chest. 

Eddie carries his son to bed, and Buck just sits there, breathing. In. Out. He should leave. He should go, but his joints stay locked in place. He’s cold, trembling, all the comfort he found here ripped away in an instant. And the worst part is, it’s all Buck’s fault. Eddie offered him a place to be himself, and Buck took too much. Made it a home.

“You all right?” Eddie asks, and Buck jumps. Eddie is standing at the end of the hall, changed into sweat pants and an old Army tee. Cozy, inviting. 

“F-fine,” Buck says. “Just tired.”

Eddie crosses the space between them and bends over the back of the couch. “You’ve got something…” He presses a thumb to the side of Buck’s nose, and it comes away streaked with pigment. Rocket ship red.

“Pastels,” Buck croaks, the single word providing enough explanation. 

Eddie hums. “You look beat. Want to crash here?”

Buck shakes his head. “No, I should get back to my place.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.” He stands too quickly, shin bumping the coffee table. “Yeah, I should. Yeah.”

Buck slips on his shoes, grabs his jacket but doesn’t bother to put it on. Keys, phone, all accounted for. It’s too late to act normal. Best to exit now and minimize the damage.

“Buck?”

“Goodnight,” he says, managing not to slam the door.

* * *

Two days after Buck’s unwelcome revelation, Chimney finds him in the locker room, hitting his head against his locker door. Thump, thump, thump. 

“You doing okay, Buckaroo?” 

Yeah, that’s a fair question.

“Just peachy,” he says.

From the corner of his vision, Buck sees Chimney pull out his phone. It isn’t hard to guess who he’s texting. 

“How’s Maddie?” Buck deadpans, and Chimney’s thumbs stall over the keyboard, mid-type.

“Still pregnant,” Chim jokes. “How’s Albert?”

Truth be told, Buck hasn’t seen Albert in over a week. He’s been shacked up with Veronica. Buck sticks out his tongue, and Chimney’s laughter rings with understanding. Commiseration.

“Well, I know just the thing to cheer you up,” says Chimney. “Cap made chicken and waffles. But you better hurry because-”

Buck doesn’t wait around to hear the end of the sentence, sprinting for the stairs. Bobby’s waffles are the perfect combination of crunchy on the outside and fluffy on the inside. His fried chicken is legendary. And together? Buck can taste the maple syrup in the air. His mouth is watering.

He pushes past the crowd of his fellow firefighters with their grease-slick lips and sticky fingers, forcing his way to the kitchen table, only to find two platters - one for waffles, the other for chicken, and nothing but crumbs remaining.

Buck feels the whine building at the edge of his throat. He’s not too manly to shed a tear over breakfast-related tragedies, but then, Eddie calls his name. 

He’s seated on the couch next to Hen, video game paused in front of them. Balanced on the armrest is a dish piled high with chicken atop a perfectly golden waffle. 

“Saved you a plate,” Eddie says, and Buck’s heart breaks all over again.

He sits on the floor and shovels the waffle into his mouth, not bothering with silverware. It’s even better than he imagined. His eyes prickle. He’s not too macho to cry over breakfast-related victories either. 

“There’s room on the couch,” Eddie offers, amused.

“Can’t move,” Buck says between bites. “Too hungry.”

“You’re an animal,” Hen scolds, but her voice is teasing. Buck accepts the napkin from her outstretched hand. 

The rest of their shift passes without major incident. They put out a fire at a local hibachi restaurant and attend to a man whose life jacket got caught in a speedboat propeller. Buck helps Bobby with dinner, spaghetti and meatballs, and for once, they don’t get interrupted.

Late into the evening, their team gets called to a campsite following a mountain lion attack that leaves one camper with bite wounds to the face and claw wounds to the neck, sustained while trying to protect his dog. By the time they arrive, the gashes are already beginning to clot. 

His boyfriend, on the other hand, is dangling forty-odd feet from the edge of a cliff. After getting chased off the ledge, his only saving grace was a protruding root that caught the straps of his backpack, preventing him from crashing to the rocks below. 

Buck pretends not to notice Eddie’s hurt glance, when he volunteers to help Hen on the ground, allowing Chimney to operate the winch and Eddie to make the descent. 

Hen sterilizes the wounds, and Buck passes her ointment and gauze. He even gets to pet the dog, who was able to escape the whole ordeal unharmed.

“You’ve been broody today,” Hen says, packing up her kit. She’s always been good with her hands, in wielding their life saving tools, but her extra knowledge from medical school is really starting to show in the field. 

“Have I?” Buck asks, playing dumb. He rubs one of the Basset hound’s soft ears between finger and thumb. 

“What’s on your mind? Bad date?”

“No dates,” says Buck. “I’m done dating.”

“Buck,” Hen says. She’s fixing him with this worried stare that Buck really can’t handle. “You’re just getting back out there. These things take time.”

“Nope, it’s over. I removed all the dating apps from my phone. Tinder, Hinge, Bumble. I’m fully prepared to die alone.”

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks because of course he has to get involved. 

“Buck‘s sworn off women,” Hen explains.

“Good for you,” says Brandon, holding his boyfriend’s hand while Chimney splints his ankle. They’ll both be spending the night in the hospital. Buck hopes their dog has a safe place to stay. “We met on Grindr. There are some weirdos out there, but you should try it.”

“Already deleted it,” Buck says and feels the weight of three sets of familiar eyes locked on him, blinking in unison. “What?” he snaps, marching back to the truck.

At the end of their shift, Eddie comes up behind him, whistling so as to alert Buck to his presence. His ability to recognize how easily startled Buck’s been today is a testament to how in tune they are. Or were.

“Hey, so I was thinking,” Eddie says, “Christopher said you mentioned a new exhibit at the science center? Would you be interested in checking it out tomorrow?”

_Protect yourself,_ the little boy inside Buck yells. _Protect yourself, protect yourself, protect-_

“Sorry, man. I already have plans with Maddie,” he lies. 

“Oh,” Eddie frowns. “Sure. You have off Sunday, right? Maybe then?” 

“I’ll let you know.”

When Buck gets to his car, before putting the keys in the ignition, he sends Maddie a text: _Coming over tomorrow night_.

Her reply is succinct, two emojis, a thumbs up and a heart.

* * *

The thing about Maddie is that she means well, but when all is said and done, no one can escape the fact that she was born with a serious and incurable case of nosiness. 

At least she has the courtesy to send Chimney out of the house before she starts grilling him.

“If you didn’t want me to be concerned, you have a funny way of going about it.”

Buck is lying face down on the carpet in her living room, really giving the fibers time to work their indentations into his skin. In Buck’s defense, Chimney poured him two glasses of red wine over dinner. That always makes him sleepy. 

“I’m losing my mind,” he says. Not that he had much left to lose. Self deprecation isn’t a good look, but does it count if it stays inside his head?

“Care to elaborate?”

“Nope.”

“Buck,” Maddie sighs. “Does this have something to do with your neighbor and Albert? Was it something Chimney said? Is it about your therapy sessions with Mom and Dad?” 

Keep on naming names, and at this rate, she’s bound to hit the nail on the head. 

“Maybe I’m dying.”

“Not before you meet your niece,” Maddie says, “Get up.”

Buck complies. They sit at the table and drink hot chocolate, which isn’t doing anything to make him _less_ tired. Maybe Maddie and Chim will let him sleep over.

It’s good hot chocolate, more for the nostalgia than for the quality. She made it with milk boiled on the stovetop and a generous squeeze of Hershey’s syrup, just like they used to drink it when they were kids. 

“So,” Maddie begins, wrist-deep in a bag of marshmallows. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Nothing,” he says. He didn’t come here to talk. In fact, he came here to avoid talking. It was a better thought in theory than in reality. It’s hard to be anything but transparent around his sister, even after years of practice. 

“You think I can’t tell when my baby brother is sad?” she asks. “Even after Mom and Dad...I thought you were good. Shockingly good. I was ready to sign up for an appointment with Dr. Copeland myself.”

“You should,” Buck says. “She’s great. And she offers discounted rates with a referral. You’re welcome to come to one of our joint sessions. I think the next appointment we have is scheduled for-”

“You’re not going to distract me.”

Buck sighs. “I promise this has nothing to do with Mom and Dad. It’s something else.”

“Some _one_ else?” Maddie says. “Chim told me about your ‘no more dating’ comment. And something about a locker door?”

“Of course he did.” She stares at him, spoon stirring, scraping against ceramic, slowly breaking down his resolve, until he blurts, “I made a mistake, okay?”

“With...dating?”

Buck nods. It was foolish to try. On his failed dates, there was no spark, no chemistry, not even the sexual attraction that used to come easy. Buck 3.0 is kinder and gentler, and the thing he wants most is something long-term. Lasting. He wants the future and all the things that are supposed to come with it - comfort, stability, trust. And eventually, a family.

It’s apparent now that he was trying to replicate the connection he had with somebody else. No one else could measure up. It was unfair to his heart and to his dates to act otherwise.

One night at the station, he saw Eddie freshening up after a shift, preparing for a late dinner with Ana. He was humming, giddy, grinning into the mirror. And Buck thought, _I want what he has_ . How easy it was for those words to become, _I want him._

“I have feelings for someone,” he admits. “But I shouldn’t.”

“Who, Veronica?” says Maddie, nose wrinkling. 

Buck shakes his head. “No, not Veronica. I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it.”

“This person...you don’t think they feel the same?”

Buck thinks back on their relationship, over the years. Fast friendship turned into more. Family. The days and nights they’ve spent together, on and off the clock. Their love for the same kid, undeniably parental. The trust they’ve built through shared joys and traumas. 

Buck categorizes all the times Eddie’s touch has lingered, wide hands clasped around his shoulder, his ribs, the back of his neck. He envisions Eddie’s gaze, head tipped back, down the bridge of his nose. The challenge in his eyes, the open affection. 

And then Buck replays his part in all of it. His bravado put on for Eddie the newcomer, the threat. Their friendly one-upmanship, even after they became partners. Eddie dared him to be better, wiser, and Buck dared Eddie to _notice._ Like a child again, begging for his parents’ attention. 

There are so many memories to re-contextualize - Buck approaching Eddie with a hand on his belt, promising he could _take him._ Was that when it started? Even then? 

God, he was pathetic.

Buck doesn’t want to project his feelings onto Eddie. He’s seen the way Eddie talks about Ana and his face when he responds to her texts. They could have something real. Buck doesn’t want to jeopardize that, out of his own envy.

“They don’t,” Buck says, keeping the gender ambiguous. The less information he gives Maddie, the better, until he’s ready to share, or unable to hold it in any longer.

Maddie is nosy, but she knows Buck’s limits. She knows when to stop pushing, to wait for him to meet her halfway.

“Do you want to eat popcorn and make fun of 90 Day Fiancé?” 

“...yes.”

* * *

After several texts from Eddie and a FaceTime call from Chris, Buck comes to the conclusion that he can’t put off their tentative plans any longer. 

So on Sunday, the three of them make the trip to gawk at the mummies and learn about ancient embalming techniques. They watch an educational movie in IMAX, which always makes Buck a little dizzy, and Eddie teases him when he stumbles out of the theater. 

They stop for Dippin’ Dots, and Buck buys Christopher a 3D puzzle of a sarcophagus in the science center gift shop, as Eddie protests that their merchandise is too expensive.

It’s good. It’s normal. Buck can pretend. He can make it for one more day, one more hour.

They get back to Eddie’s house, and Buck agrees to video games. He overstays. That is his critical error.

Three rounds into Mario Kart, there’s a knock at the door. Eddie goes to answer. Buck hears a woman’s voice and Eddie saying, “ _No, no, it’s not a bad time,"_ but Buck senses his hesitance.

She’s stunning, easily one of the prettiest women Buck’s ever seen, with her dark curly hair, high cheekbones, and warm brown eyes. Instantly, he knows. This is Ana. Standing next to Eddie...they look good together. A matched set. 

Buck’s stomach twists. He feels ambushed, hates Eddie for that, just a little.

“Ana, this is my best friend, Buck,” Eddie says. Any other time, Buck would be grateful for that designation. _Best friend_ . At least he didn’t say _coworker_. “Buck, this is Ana. And Ana, you already know Christopher.”

“Nice to meet you, Buck,” Ana says and sounds sincere. “And it’s great to see you again, Christopher.”

When Christopher doesn’t respond, Buck’s anxiety ratchets up a few notches. The silence is stifling.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Eddie asks, and Buck jumps off the couch like it’s electrocuting him. 

“I’ve got it,” he says, desperate not to be left alone with the teacher and her former student. “Was just going to grab myself a glass of water. What can I get you, Ana? Water, beer, sweet tea, lemonade?”

Is it weird that he knows exactly what’s in Eddie’s refrigerator? Nothing on Ana’s face indicates disapproval. “Water would be great, thank you.”

Buck closes the door to the kitchen behind him and leans up against it, panting. _Pull it together, Buckley._

He sets two glasses on the counter and goes to the fridge to grab the Brita pitcher. He stops when he sees the pictures there, pastel drawings, a rocket and the solar system, hung side by side. Their names signed at the bottom, for anyone to see. And Buck feels himself crack.

He’s never hurt this way before, not even when Abby left him. The things he wanted from her were amorphous, theoretical. Not tangible. Not like this.

The kitchen door creaks open, and Buck hides his head in the freezer, blinking away tears. _Stupid._

“Everything okay in here?” Eddie asks.

“Sorry, got distracted,” Buck says, inhaling through his nose trying to rein it in. “I was thinking about those firecracker popsicles that Chris likes.”

“Think we ran out of those a while ago.”

“Right,” says Buck. “I’ll pick some up, next time I’m over. All good. I’ll be out in a second.”

Buck carries the glasses to the living room, where Eddie is now seated in the armchair, Ana in his place on the couch, Christopher at the other end, and Buck’s seat between them still vacant.

_What the fuck, Eddie_.

Buck slides awkwardly into his seat, hands over the glass of water, and Ana thanks him. 

“I told Ana about our trip to the science center, and she brought over free season passes.” 

“Being vice principal has to come with some perks,” Ana grins back. There are three tickets sitting on the coffee table. Buck knows the third one isn’t for him. “Next month, they’re bringing in one of the archeologists who discovered the secret rooms behind King Tutankhamun’s tomb. I thought maybe we could go together, Christopher.”

“What about Buck?”

God, Buck wants to die. _No, think of Maddie’s baby._

“It’s okay, Chris. I already got to see the mummies today.” Then, he turns to Ana, holds up a spare controller to diffuse the tension. “Want to play?”

They start up another game, and Christopher protests when Ana selects Toad because, “That’s Buck’s character.”

“Oh,” Ana says. “I, um.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be Toadette. Who is equally cool, by the way.” He jabs Christopher playfully in the side and sends Ana a wink that can hopefully not be misconstrued as flirtatious. “Us toadstools gotta stick together.”

Eddie is shooting him a grateful, apologetic smile that Buck doesn’t acknowledge. Yeah, he better be thankful Buck hasn’t leapt over the coffee table and throttled him. 

When Eddie announces that it’s bedtime, Christopher demands to be tucked in by Buck, and Buck assents to avoid further conflict. He wonders if there’s a nice way to ask a kid to please stop using him as a human shield. Eddie was right, Christopher was turning Buck against him. 

Eddie comes in a few minutes later - _classic bait and switch_ \- and Buck excuses himself in favor of making painfully civil small talk with Ana. He should probably just go, but ah, she’s so damn nice.

They cover the usual topics - work, how long they’ve lived in LA, their favorite museums and beaches to visit. Then, they move onto the one subject they share, for better or worse.

“You’re really good with him,” Ana says thoughtfully. 

Buck swallows. “Yeah, well. Eddie probably told you about the tsunami.” Ana nods. “I got injured on the job. I was in a bad spot, and Christopher was the only person who could cheer me up. Even after I lost him. He says that I saved him, but he was the one who saved me. I’d do anything for that kid.”

Ana smiles at him, revealing her dimples, and Buck gets it, okay? He gets it.

Eddie enters the room like he hasn’t been standing in the hallway for the last five minutes, listening to their conversation. 

“Well, he’s asleep,” Eddie announces. He doesn’t seem too upset, all things considered. Not like he was on the last night Buck was over, after he broached the subject of dating with Christopher for the first time.

“I’m sorry, Edmundo,” Ana says, fidgeting. “I should have called.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I talked to Christopher. He’ll come around.”

Eddie sets a hand on her shoulder, and Ana brings one of hers up to cover it, stroking at his fingers with dainty nails, distinctly feminine. This is what Eddie wants.

“It’s getting late,” Buck says. He stands and stretches to convey his exhaustion. “I’ll leave you kids to it.”

“You don’t want to stay for another beer?”

Buck declines, and Eddie offers to walk him out, won’t take no for an answer. He wedges himself into driver’s side, preventing Buck from closing the door.

“You were…polite tonight.”

“I’m always polite,” Buck says, and Eddie gives him a look that tells him he isn’t buying it. “Just drop it, Eddie.”

He doesn’t mean for the words to come out so harsh. Eddie’s expression is wounded. That makes two of them. “Listen, I know that was uncomfortable. I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of it.”

“Oh, are you?” Buck asks. “Are you really? Next time you think about using me as a literal buffer between your girlfriend and your son? _Don’t._ ”

“I don’t know why Christopher was acting like that. He was out of line.” Doesn’t he? Buck knows exactly why.

“Are you serious right now? Am I being Punk’d? Is the universe conspiring against me?”

And Eddie is swinging his head back and forth, flabbergasted, like he doesn’t understand why Buck is so angry. “Buck, I-”

“God, your kid is too smart,” Buck chokes. He needs to leave before he starts crying in earnest. “Better hope he uses his powers for good and not to achieve world domination.”

“Buck, what are you talking about?”

“Go home, Eddie,” Buck says, even though they’re standing in Eddie’s driveway. He waits for Eddie to back up before skidding off onto the open road.

* * *

It doesn’t take long for their friction to start bleeding over into work. It’s worse than when Buck came back after the lawsuit, only this time, Buck is the one doing the icing out, and Eddie is the one pouting at the fringes.

“He knows what he did,” Buck says, when Hen and Chimney come to him, separately at first. And then together. They even send Bobby after him.

“I don’t want this to affect your work,” Bobby warns, pulling Buck into the office that he rarely ever uses. That’s how Buck knows it’s serious.

“It won’t,” Buck promises. 

But it does. That much is apparent when Buck finds himself dangling upside down in an elevator shaft, harness snapped on one side.

“Buck!” Bobby and Eddie yell both yell, as Chimney contributes a “Holy shit.”

Buck’s body swings. He bashes his head off the metal paneling, immediately tasting blood. The remaining side of his harness tightens around his left thigh, and Buck hisses at the pressure. This is his fault. He didn’t let Eddie check his straps before he dropped.

He tries not to make any sudden movements, until he’s sure the rope and strap are going to hold. Then, he engages every muscle in his abdomen to reach up and get hands on the rope. 

“Stop moving!” Eddie shouts. Buck can tell he’s furious, voice sharp. “I’m coming down!”

“I’ve got it!” he shouts back, snatching the line, groaning as he pulls himself 180 degrees into an upright position. “I’ve got it! Just lower me and send down another harness!”

He climbs through the little window at the top of the elevator to rescue the elderly man who collapsed after the car stalled between floors. His wife is sobbing, and Buck probably doesn’t come off very reassuring, what with all the blood that’s dripping from his nose and mouth. 

He secures the man in a basket first, after checking for his pulse, and sends him up top. His team sends down two harnesses, and Buck fastens them together, double-checking, triple-checking. 

When they surface, for a moment, Buck is worried that Eddie’s going to push him back down the elevator shaft. Fortunately, he waits until they get back to the 118 to have it out.

“I’m pissed at you,” Eddie says, dragging Buck outside. Hen patched him up before they drove back, but he was really looking forward to a shower. 

“Yeah?” says Buck. “Get in line.” No one is angrier at Buck than he is at himself. 

“What is the matter with you?” Eddie spits, “You’d rather die than talk to me? Work with me here, Buck. What did I do that was so wrong? How can I make it right?”

“It’s not you,” Buck moans, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Okay, it is you, but it’s not...there’s nothing you can do. It’s my problem. I’ll handle it.”

“This is what you call handling it?” Eddie says, kicking at rocks. Buck has seen him like this before. It’s how he gets when he wants to hit something. But that was the old Eddie. It’s amazing how much progress he’s made in the last year. He closes his eyes and counts to ten, something Frank encouraged, softens his voice when he says, “Christopher told me what you talked about.”

Buck pulse stutters. “H-he did?”

“About why I’m dating Ana. And something about...you being enough for us. I’m sorry if that made you feel awkward. Kids say all kinds of things. He didn’t understand what he was insinuating.” No, Christopher understood perfectly fine. It’s Eddie who doesn’t.

“You don’t understand,” Buck says. “But it’s fine. It doesn’t have to change anything. We’ll be okay. I just need some time.”

“Time for what?” Eddie asks, and when Buck turns around, Eddie grabs at his wrist. “No, you’re not leaving until you answer me.”

“Eddie, please.”

“No, Buck. Time for what?”

“To get over you!” Buck cries, too loud. “God, Eddie. Don’t you get it? I’m in love with you.”

Eddie drops his arm, as if burned, and that tells Buck all he needs to know. “You’re not,” he says quietly, disbelieving, trying to convince Buck as much as himself.

“Say whatever makes you feel better,” Buck sniffles. His cheeks are wet. He puts a hand to his nose and finds it dripping blood and snot. “Doesn’t make it true.”

“Buck, you don’t like-”

“What, men? You?” He laughs, caustic. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“ _Evan_ ,” Eddie says, has never used his first name before. Buck doesn’t want to investigate how that makes him feel. “I love you, but we’re not…”

“You think I don’t know that? I _hate_ Buck 3.0. He’s ready to focus on the future, but when I think about the future, all I can see is _you_.” Eddie’s eyes are full of pity, and it just makes Buck cry harder. “Eddie, I...I don’t know how many versions I have left in me.”

“Buck.”

He skates around Eddie and walks right up to Bobby, not bothering to wipe his eyes. Requests the rest of the day off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not addressing taylor kelly in this one. or the moving-in theory, but god, can you imagine? i'm shaking.
> 
> next chapter is eddie! see you then...


	2. And His, Aligned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am overcome by all of the kind comments and kudos. a good number of you subscribed for updates, so i hope this chapter does not disappoint. from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading!

Eddie watches the Jeep speed away into the night. There’s nothing out here but the stars above, the wind rustling through bushes, and the crickets chirping. He feels judged all the same.

Eddie falls in through the front door and takes a minute to compose himself. Buck is upset. Christopher is upset. That’s two-thirds of the people Eddie cares about most in the state of California, the third being his abuela.

Not to say that he doesn’t care for Ana. He really likes Ana, but there’s little he can do to salvage the evening with her either. So after a minute of glaring at the floor, trying to figure out how quickly a great day turned into an unmitigated disaster, the first thing Eddie says to Ana is:

“He liked you.” 

He’s not sure if that’s true, but Buck likes most people. And does it matter? Ana doesn’t come off as someone who fights for others’ approval. 

“He seemed sweet.”

Eddie shrugs. _Sweet_ doesn’t seem like the right descriptor for Buck. It’s not enough, somehow. Buck is eager, excitable, stubborn, selfless. He’s more than just one thing to Eddie, sometimes adapting to be exactly what Eddie needs at any given time. 

But if sweet and polite is what Ana took away from their brief interaction, Eddie will accept it. There are far worse things.

“That could have gone better. I’m sorry,” Eddie says, “about Christopher. I swear he doesn’t dislike you. I should have done more to prepare him.”

“No, Edmundo. We should have talked about it more. I thought maybe it would be better if I didn’t make a big deal of it, but-” Ana gestures helplessly.

Eddie sits next to her on the couch, still warm from where Buck was seated. “We’ll try again.” 

Ana nods. “I’d like that. I have to be honest with you. I’ve never dated anyone who had kids before.”

Eddie understands. It’s to be expected. Ana is brilliant. Between her doctorate and her smile, she could have anyone she wanted. 

He still doesn’t know why she continues to give him the time of day, can’t help but feel like damaged goods. Not because of Christopher, but because of his own failures. The crumbled foundation of his marriage that he took the chisel to himself, through years of absence. His inability to protect the person he swore to love and cherish until death do they part. 

“I love children,” Ana says. “But as their teacher. I don’t have experience being a parent or being in a relationship with one. I want to learn, but I might need you to be patient with me.”

“Of course.”

He bids her goodnight with a kiss to the cheek. They haven’t gone much further than that, with physical intimacy. A few stolen kisses hello and goodbye, with his hand pressed to the curve of her lower back.

It’s not for lack of wanting, Eddie thinks. He feels that comfortable pull at the pit of his stomach, the desire to be close to her, though kept at a dull roar. He’s actually relieved by their slow pace because for all he and Shannon had in passion, they lacked in sense and communication. He doesn’t want to make that mistake again.

The following morning, Eddie sits down with Christopher, over two bowls of Frosted Flakes. He doesn’t work again until tomorrow and is glad because it will give him more time to think about what to say to Buck. How to apologize. What exactly he should be apologizing for. 

Christopher is sullen. His school is on a hybrid schedule now, so he spends every Monday and Wednesday doing remote learning. They don’t have to rush out the door, which is good. They need to talk. He just doesn’t know where to begin.

“Christopher,” Eddie says. He’s caught between comforter and disciplinarian. He wants to tell his son that he owes Ana and Buck an apology, but Christopher is hurting, and maybe that’s the more important thing to address. “You want to tell me what’s been bothering you?”

“You’re angry,” says Christopher.

He’s not angry. Disappointed? Concerned. “I worry about you,” Eddie says. “Because I’m your dad, and I love you.”

“Okay,” Christopher says, taking one last bite of cereal and sliding his bowl away. “Can I be excused?”

Eddie takes hold of his hand, still so small. “I want to keep seeing Ana, but I want you to be okay with it. I don’t want to do anything that makes you sad, not if I can help it.”

“I know. Buck said…” Christopher trails off, remembering, “that I should tell you when I miss you.”

 _Buck_. Eddie’s heart squeezes. His best friend is a child at heart, and sometimes, Eddie gets the feeling that Buck and Christopher have an easier time speaking the same language, the kind that springs from youthful optimism and possibilities.

“He’s right. You can tell me anything, and I promise, I’ll try to listen.”

“Does Ms. Flores make you happy?”

Eddie thinks about it. He’s familiar with happiness as a passing feeling, not as a state of being. Nothing so certain as that. “I’m happy when I get to see her. She makes me smile.”

“But Buck makes you laugh. Doesn’t he make you happy?” Christopher asks. 

He’s not wrong but, “He does. But Chris, it’s different.”

Christopher sighs, like a moody teenager instead of the ten-year-old boy who still, on occasion, asks his dad to check the closet for monsters. “That’s what Buck said too.”

Eddie freezes, mouth falling open. “He said...a-about what?”

“I don’t get it,” Christopher sulks. “We have Buck. Buck loves us. We don’t need anyone else.”

“Christopher…”

“I told him, but he said it’s different and that I’ll understand when I’m older.”

Oh, jeez. That’s...Eddie is embarrassed on Buck’s behalf. For Christopher to treat them as if they were a married couple who decided to start seeing other people. No wonder Buck was acting so uncomfortable. 

“Buddy, I’m sure Buck will always want to be a part of your life. But someday, he might have his own family to take care of. Like Aunt Adriana. You remember how she used to live with Abuelo and Grandma? After she married your Uncle Carlo, she still came over to visit you, right? Like that.”

Even though Buck worries about never finding the right person to spend his life with, Eddie has no such doubts. Buck will make someone a great husband, a great father. His priorities will change, and that’s something they have to prepare for, Eddie and Christopher both.

Someday, Buck wouldn’t belong to them. No, that’s not right. He never did.

Eddie has it all figured out, he thinks. He formulates the right words, the best way to explain this misunderstanding.

And then, Buck almost breaks his neck in an elevator shaft. And then, Buck does the unthinkable, blows the doors off any of Eddie’s most outlandish theories for why Buck would give up on dating and shun Eddie like a plague on legs. 

He tells Eddie he loves him.

 _Your kid is too smart_ , Buck said, itching to pull out of Eddie’s driveway, like it was physically paining him to hold the conversation. In memory, those words hit Eddie with all of the clarity he was missing. He’s stunned that Christopher saw it before he did. Buck didn’t just _act_ like his partner. He wanted to be.

Buck takes off the remainder of the day, then calls in sick the rest of the week. It’s so unlike him, Eddie wants to cry. Or punch things, whichever comes first.

He almost considers calling off himself, because the team keeps watching him with accusation in their eyes, even if they won’t say it out loud. But Eddie has truck payments, utilities, and school tuition to think about. He needs the money. He hunkers down and weathers through it.

Today, for instance. Fresh from the showers, after a hard workout, Eddie overhears voices coming from the loft. Chimney is speaking in his whisper voice, which is, as usual, way too loud for any hope of secrecy.

“So are we Team Buck, or Team Eddie?” Chimney whisper-yells. Hen shushes him. “I’m having a baby with his sister, so I think I’m going to have to be Team Buck. But you should be Team Eddie to balance things out.”

“I’m Team ‘not-having-this-discussion-at-work,’ Chim, come on.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and trods loudly up the stairs. Chimney and Hen are sitting at the table, mugs of coffee and a plate of jelly-filled donuts in front of them, ostensibly working on the L.A. Times crossword puzzle, like an elderly couple.

“What are we talking about?” Eddie asks, a little too content to watch them squirm.

Chimney stuffs an entire donut in his mouth in a blatant attempt to stall for time, but Eddie waits him out, arms crossed over his chest.

“Um…” Chimney says, coughing on powdered sugar, lips comically dusted in white. “Baseball?”

“Right.”

The others seem to be unaware of the full picture, but the way he’s been acting, Eddie thinks Bobby knows what’s going on. It’s little things, like the way he glances at Eddie whenever Buck’s name is mentioned. The firm hand on Eddie’s shoulder when he climbs out of the truck. How Bobby’s started asking Eddie to help out in the kitchen, even though Eddie can barely be trusted to boil pasta, as if to remind him that he’s the reason Bobby’s sous-chef is absent.

Bobby is a dad, as much inside as outside of work. He might deny favoritism, but there’s no arguing that when it comes to Buck, he’s a little extra protective. Now, Buck is heartbroken, and Eddie is to blame. He just can’t quite grasp what Bobby wants him to do about it. 

Eddie has worked without Buck before, in long stretches - while Buck was getting re-certified, and after the blood clots, and during the lawsuit - but this feels different. Worse. Because Eddie is responsible.

A call comes in, strange even by their standards, after bystanders report a cloud of fish raining from the sky. And when they arrive, that’s what they find: hundreds of mackerel lying belly-up on the Santa Monica pier. It’s the exact kind of unexplained natural phenomenon that Buck would gape at with starry-eyed wonder. For a moment, Eddie forgets. He turns and finds the space behind his shoulder empty. Deflates.

Hen catches his eye, knowing. “Maybe try texting him?” she suggests.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. A sinkhole opens up and swallows a city bus with thirty passengers onboard. The driver doesn’t make it out. A toddler is in critical care. Even after Eddie showers, he can still feel the dirt in the crevices of his ears and beneath his fingernails. 

Late into their shift, somewhere between midnight and morning, they get the opportunity to rest. Lying in his bunk, unable to fall asleep despite the physical exhaustion, Eddie almost caves to Hen’s suggestion. But Buck wanted time. Eddie can give him that much. 

* * *

It’s a day like any other, when Buck reappears without any fanfare, like he was never missing in the first place. Eddie walks into the locker room, and Buck is changing, back towards him.

No one else is around. Eddie opens his own locker without saying hello. Neither of them acknowledge the other, at least not out loud. He sneaks a peek at Buck’s face and notes the bruising from the elevator incident, across the bridge of his nose and beneath his eyes, faded to a dull yellow.

His gaze flickers down to Buck’s legs, exposed as he shucks off his jeans. His left thigh is ringed by a line of broken blood vessels, where the harness caught him. It’s still a dark purple, blush pink at the edges. Tender.

“Look who it is!” Chimney shouts. He sets his bag on the bench, and his keys spill out, jangling to the floor. 

Eddie jolts back to himself. He breathes in sharply and turns away, focusing on the buttons of his own shirt. Just because Buck is _in love with him_ does not give Eddie the right to ogle his best friend.

“Hey, Chim,” Buck says, a little subdued, pulling on the bottom of his uniform.

“Zip up, Buckaroo. Maddie asked for photographic evidence of your grand return.”

“Ha-ha,” Buck intones, as Chimney snaps a picture. 

As a general rule, the Greater Los Angeles Area doesn’t care about the interpersonal drama of its first responders, so the day carries on as usual. Eddie and Buck float around each other, inhabiting the same space without interacting more than necessary. Hen and Chimney, sensing the mood, do all the talking for them.

Thankfully, there are no harness rescues, no natural disasters, no casualties. They intervene in a fender bender that leads to a fistfight in the center of Hollywood Boulevard and rescue a woman who locks herself in her own panic room. Eddie hands Buck an axe, and Buck accepts it. Buck helps Eddie load the woman into the back of the ambulance after Hen diagnoses her with severe dehydration.

They have four hours of radio silence in the middle of their shift, which might be blissful under different circumstances. 

Eddie, Chimney, and Bobby play rummy. Hen looks over flashcards. Buck putters around in the kitchen, then ducks out for a phone call. When he’s gone for more than an hour, Eddie has a sneaking suspicion about who is on the other line. He wonders what kind of de-escalation techniques Dr. Copeland recommends for when you confess your feelings to your best friend and still have to see him on a regular basis.

“You know, Buck,” Hen says, unprompted, “Karen told me her gynecologist’s niece is single. And she’s a pro surfer.”

Buck has returned and is reclined in one chair, feet propped up on another, reading a new self-help book. This one is titled _The Power of Letting Go_. 

_Christ_.

“How does she know that?” Buck squints, setting down his book. “Also, why are you telling me?”

“I was just thinking, if the apps aren’t working out, maybe try doing things the old fashioned way,” Hen says.

“A blind date?”

“Think of it as a referral.”

“Ask me again in,” Buck pretends to look down at a watch he isn’t wearing, “...3-5 business years.”

Chimney wins his fifth hand of rummy in a row, and Eddie is convinced he’s cheating.

“Don’t hate the player,” Chimney gloats. Bobby and Eddie fork over five bucks a piece. “But Buck, I hear congratulations are in order? You’ll have plenty of opportunities to entertain now that Albert is moving in with Veronica.”

“If I didn’t have six months left on my lease, I’d have left him first,” Buck grouses.

“I’m just saying, love is in the air. Isn’t that right, Eddie?”

“Yes,” Hen joins in fully, abandoning any pretense of studying. “How is Dr. Flores?”

Hen and Chimney would not be bringing Ana up in front of Buck if they truly knew what was going on. 

Frankly, Eddie’s a little surprised Buck didn’t sit them all down to have a team meeting about it, given his aptitude for oversharing while simultaneously _under_ sharing - telling his friends about his fucked up family secret without being honest about how it’s affecting him. What’s one more inappropriate reveal?

“When do we get to meet her?” Chimney asks.

“Guys,” Eddie says, seconds away from clipping through the floor and out of existence just to escape this conversation. He has to force himself not to look at Buck.

“Buck,” Bobby says firmly. “Come and help me unload the dishwasher.” Buck obeys without question. In that moment, Eddie would have gladly prostrated himself at Bobby’s feet, to express just an ounce of his all-encompassing gratitude. 

“Do you ever think that we know too much about each other?” Eddie asks, avoiding Hen and Chimney’s questions.

“No,” says Chim, at the same time Hen says, “Yes.”

* * *

Their next few shifts are spent apart. Eddie supposes this is by Bobby’s design. That’s fine. He and Buck can take baby steps, back to whatever sort of normal can be salvaged from the implosion of their codependent friendship.

On Eddie’s days off, he spends most of his time doting on Christopher. And when Christopher has a weekend playdate with a friend from school, Eddie takes Ana out to brunch. 

He knows he’s acting funny, quieter than usual. He can tell Ana is feeling uneasy, but he can’t make it better, can’t explain himself without spilling the whole damn thing. It’s the closest he’s ever felt to jinxed. Sabotaged. Eddie counts the minutes until the date is over, when he has to pick up Christopher, instead of the days until they get to see each other again. 

He likes Ana. He usually enjoys her company. She’s just...not his first thought when he wakes up, or his last thought when he goes to bed. She’s not a priority. Their relationship is new, and that could very well change. Eddie doesn’t want to be too hasty to write something off, and maybe he’s afraid. Because if he and Ana don’t work out, then what was it all for?

He tries not to resent Buck for making him question things. He knows that wasn’t Buck’s aim. Buck’s heart is too big, his love is too grand for any ill-intent. Still, the fear and irritation builds like a poison, like lightning, under Eddie’s skin, his body screaming out of self-preservation, to redirect it.

The storm builds first inside him, so strong, the world sees it fit to match.

Angelenos aren’t used to rain, and the worse the droughts become, the more they forget. Umbrellas are misplaced. Suits get ruined, wingtips waterlogged. Flood preparations fall to the wayside. Car accidents spike.

And that’s on a good day, not during a torrential downpour. 

“Eddie, Buck, get the jaws!” Bobby calls over the rush of water hitting the pavement, plinking off the roof of their ladder truck, echoing against the hard shells of their helmets.

If their jackets weren’t water-resistant, they’d be soaked through in an instant. As it stands, Eddie is pretty sure his boot has a hole in it. His left sock is pasted uncomfortably against the sole of his left foot.

Buck hefts the jaws of life, and Eddie guides the cord. Together, they pry away the rear passenger door of the gray sedan, where it’s been crushed against the guardrail. The little girl in the backseat is unconscious, a large goose egg already protruding from the right side of her forehead. Her right arm is bent at an unnatural angle, definitively broken. Chimney jumps in, checking her pulse, shining the penlight in her eyes. Hen prepares a sling.

Eddie circles around the car to check on the driver. His door is open. He’s moving, slurring his speech. A head injury? Eddie unbuckles his seatbelt, and the man groans.

“Sir, I’m with the LAFD,” Eddie says. “I need to ask that you try and stay still.”

“Get off me,” the man groans, swinging his legs out of the doorway, pushing Eddie back. He has abrasions on the lower half of his face from the impact of the airbag, contusions forming over his clavicle and sternum. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Eddie warns, but the man doesn’t care for his concern. He totters a few steps on wobbling legs before leaning against the trunk. 

That’s when the scent hits Eddie. It’s hard to place, competing with the smells of gasoline, burnt rubber, and runoff, but Eddie’s gotten sick on enough tequila shots to recognize it. He pokes his head inside the car and sees the bottle of Patrón sitting in the center console.

“Angela?” the drunk asks. “Is Angie…?”

As Hen and Chimney lower his daughter to the backboard, she begins to wake up. Once she becomes conscious of the pain, she starts to wail. 

Sometimes, Eddie’s hands move faster than his head, and sometimes that’s a good thing. He has the Silver Star to prove it. It allows him to work efficiently without succumbing to the pressure that causes others to freeze. But other times-

Eddie’s hands reach out, devoid of logic. He grabs the man by his lapels and tosses him to the asphalt. 

“ _Eddie_ ,” Buck gasps.

“Diaz!” Bobby yells. He’s on Eddie in an instant, gripping the arm of his jacket. His jaw is clenched tight, eyes searing. “Walk away!”

When the hands lead, the head always follows. The head is good at heeding orders. Eddie swallows his shame and stomps across the highway, kicking up rivulets of rainwater. He gets to the other side and finds it’s not far enough, steps over the guardrail and walks down the embankment.

The ground becomes more saturated with water the further he goes, every step squelching as the mud sucks at his boots and releases. He gets to a line of trees and crouches over his knees, heart throbbing, puffing like he’s coming off a 5K run. 

He hears footsteps and knows who they belong to. “Eddie? Eddie, Eddie. Shit,” Buck calls, slipping in the sludge and sliding part-way, cursing.

When Buck reaches him, he holds out Eddie’s helmet. Eddie doesn’t remember losing it, but his hair is wet now, sticking to his temples, raindrops clinging to his lashes. He blinks stupidly up at Buck, then stands, doesn’t take the hat back. Instead, he extends wild fingers and knocks Buck’s helmet off his head, evening the field.

Buck stares at him, like Eddie’s lost his mind. That’s warranted. His hair dampens, starts to curl.

“What are you doing?” Buck asks. His hands drift uselessly through the air in front of them, like he wants to grab Eddie and shake him, but something is getting in the way.

“Why do you care?” Eddie spits, can’t reason past the built up frustration, boiling over. 

Buck laughs, and the sound isn’t mean. It’s wounded. “Me _not_ caring has never been the problem, Eddie. Kind of the opposite, wouldn’t you say?”

 _It’s not a problem,_ Eddie wants to say, _You’re not a problem_. He can’t make the words form outside of his own skull.

“I’m-”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” Buck says. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’ve been,” _Missing you. Terrified. Confused out of my mind._ “Juggling a lot. I let it fester. I try to keep the lid on, but it always...”

“Overflows,” Buck nods. “I know. And that man up there will get what’s due him, but that’s not for you to decide, okay? I pulled that once, and Athena bit my head off.”

“I know that, up here.” Eddie points to his head. “But _you_ ,” he says, not sure how he’s going to continue that sentence. “It‘s not a coincidence that you bringing the lawsuit to the 118 was the same time I started-”

“Cage fighting.”

“It wasn’t a cage,” Eddie mutters. “And it wasn’t because I wanted to _punch_ you. It’s because I needed you. I’m not used to needing things. And Christopher was having these nightmares about the tsunami and Shannon. I felt like a failure. I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

“Eddie.”

“I know that’s not fair. I know you want space. I don’t want to have to rely on you to talk me down from the ledge every time. That’s not healthy for either of us.”

Against the backdrop of the stormy sky, framed by wet, blond lashes, Buck’s eyes have never looked so blue. Eddie sees too much. He sees Buck’s heart, altruistic to a fault, at the expense of himself.

“It’s okay to ask for help. I’m still your friend,” Buck vows. “That will never change.”

Buck grabs his hand and leads Eddie up the hill. He drops it once they get to the top, and Eddie...doesn’t want that. But he can’t ask for more.

* * *

Things between Eddie and Buck seem to settle, for a time. They don’t talk much more, but they don’t avoid each other either. Buck doesn’t visit the Diaz home, and Eddie doesn’t ask him to babysit. He arranges FaceTime calls, for Christopher’s sake, where Eddie gets to stay carefully out of frame.

One day, Eddie approaches Buck after work to tell him about a game night that Hen and Karen are organizing, with Denny, Nia, Christopher, and Harry.

“Sounds like fun,” Buck says, genuine, but confused as to why Eddie’s bringing it up.

“I can’t stay because I have some things to do, but I already checked with Hen, and she says you’re more than welcome.” And boy, was that an awkward conversation. Soon, Hen will know, and then Chim will know, and then Eddie and Buck will have a lot more to answer for.

“Oh,” Buck considers, head tilted. “Yeah, I’m free. I’ll be there.”

First, Eddie was a widower, and now he feels like a divorcé, sharing custody, taking his kid to spend time with his ex. It lends to the reality of their situation. Buck was a life partner, as much as a work partner. He can’t claim innocence in this. Eddie handed him the role, and Buck accepted. They’re both complicit. 

He gets to Hen and Karen’s house, and Buck’s car is already there. He rings the bell, and when Karen answers, Eddie can hear Buck’s voice ringing from the kitchen - “ _Wait, wait, wait, Denny, let them cool.”_

“You want to come in?” Karen offers, after taking off Christopher’s backpack and giving Eddie a warm hug.

“Nah,” Eddie says. He shouldn’t. “Got some errands to run. But thank you so much for having him.” _And Buck._

“Any time,” Karen says. “Denny will be thrilled to play Monopoly with someone who _doesn’t_ try to eat the hotels.”

The first errand is a legitimate excuse. Eddie has to take his abuela to an appointment with her podiatrist. Afterwards, he has a cup of tea with her and gives her a general update about Christopher’s wellbeing. 

Eddie checks his phone for texts from Karen or Hen and ignores the two that Ana sent him this morning, asking him if, whenever he was free, he’d like to try a new taqueria that opened up in Pico Rivera. She’s big on supporting local businesses, which is endearing, but Eddie can’t bring himself to fake enthusiasm. He lets the hours roll by, without responding, feeling like an asshole.

He takes the truck in for its annual inspection, then visits a hobby shop to stock up on pastels. He buys a poster board for Christopher’s next science project. He picks up some non-perishables and paper towels at the grocery store, then circles the block. The sky is getting dark. He’s just considering stopping at a bar to grab a beer, when Hen calls him.

“Buck made too many cookies, and the boys just crashed back down to earth. Are you coming to get Chris?”

Eddie thanks her, affirms, and hangs up. He makes it back to their house in record time. When he pulls in the drive, Buck is already waiting for him, waving to Karen who turns on the porch light. Christopher is slung over his back, drooling into the collar of Buck’s shirt. 

“He was falling asleep putting his shoes on,” Buck says, eyes lined with residual laughter. It’s the happiest Eddie’s seen him in weeks, and Eddie-

Wants to kiss him.

He’s bowled over by the immediacy of the urge. The love he already possesses and the picture Buck presents, colliding. The family Eddie could have. 

The possibility has always been there, right under their noses, and now it seems like the only natural progression. Eddie couldn’t recognize it before, because he’d never experienced it. He’s fallen in lust, in like, into foolhardy commitment. But never in love.

Buck must misread whatever is written on Eddie’s face as discomfort. He assists Eddie in loading Christopher into his car seat, with careful movements, to keep their arms from brushing. 

“It’s good to see you,” Eddie says, and Buck’s only response is a guarded hum.

They separate, and Eddie climbs into his truck. He rests his head on the steering wheel for a few minutes, lifts it, and sees Buck’s Jeep ahead of him, with the parking lights on. His silhouette is visible in the driver’s seat, through the rear windshield. He’s waiting for Eddie to go. 

Eddie slides the keys into the ignition and shifts into reverse. He beeps the car horn once, an apology as much as a goodnight, and Buck honks back. 

At the house, once Christopher is tucked safely into bed, Eddie lies down on his own mattress, over the comforter, fully clothed. And he thinks about Buck. His lips. The shape of his cheeks around a smile, meant just for Eddie. 

The illusion isn’t perfect. It’s shrouded by guilt because Buck isn’t the person Eddie is seeing. Eddie hasn’t broken up with Ana. _Yet_ , his mind conjures. Once the thought manifests, it sits in the back of his mind like an inevitability.

The next day, he texts Ana. He drops Christopher off with Pepa, and they meet at the taqueria for lunch. Ana’s eyes are hopeful, but Eddie’s are ashamed. It’s not a match. They don’t fit.

“This isn’t going to work, is it?” Ana asks, once the waiter serves them their entrées. 

Eddie shakes his head, stares down at his plate. The shrimp tacos look delicious, but he can’t summon an appetite. “I don’t want to make excuses, but I want you to know that it isn’t you. I’ve had a lot of fun, spending time with you.”

“Okay,” Ana says. She picks up her mimosa and takes a swig. “I’ve had fun with you too, Edmundo.”

“It isn’t Christopher either. It’s…” he pauses. How much honesty is too much? To what is Ana owed? “I have feelings for someone else. It’s not something I could admit to until recently.”

If running from problems was the Buckley family way, then repression was the Diaz family equivalent. They pretended that their issues didn’t exist. 

His father missed all three of his children's births, and his mother had to act like it didn’t bother her. Sophia was dyslexic, struggled with reading, but somehow managed to keep it from their parents and her teachers, until she started to fail third grade English. When Adriana’s cat got run over, she didn’t shed a tear, and Adriana _loved_ that cat. She dressed it up in outfits and pushed it around in a baby carriage. The only time she let herself cry was in night terrors, vivid and violent, like nothing Eddie had seen before or since.

Eddie grew up, became a control freak. He kept things on lock, tucked away. He was a pessimist and called it realism. He knew the things he could have and buried those that he couldn’t. Few were capable of unearthing his troubles and desires, and that extended to himself. He kept expectations measured, forgot how to dream.

“Ah,” Ana says. “I wouldn’t want to compete with that. I had my suspicions, but I didn’t want to assume. That’s good, Edmundo. You’ll be good together. I’m happy for you.”

It’s terrible. She’s too understanding. “I’ve been so unfair to both of you.”

“Maybe,” she says. “I can’t speak for Buck, but you’re being honest now. Even if I’m disappointed, I appreciate that. All we can do is move forward.”

* * *

He and Ana break up, and Eddie feels a mix of anticipation and relief. He sees Buck at work but says nothing. It’s too soon, and besides, how is Eddie supposed to bring it up? Casually, as a group PSA, or privately, as a confession?

They start talking again, little by little. Texting again, off duty. Eddie wonders if he hasn’t already lost his opportunity. If Buck is almost ready to move on.

One morning, a few weeks later, Eddie goes to wake Christopher up for school and finds him crying.

“Christopher,” Eddie says on an inhale, pulse kicking into overdrive. “Buddy, what’s wrong?”

“ _Hurts_ ,” Christopher sobs. 

Eddie presses a palm to his forehead. He’s burning up. “Where, where does it hurt?”

Christopher gestures to his stomach, and Eddie prods a thumb into the space above his pelvis, on the right side. Christopher gasps. Eddie turns his son’s body just in time for him to vomit onto the floor. He knows what this is.

They get to the emergency room, and the doctors agree. Appendicitis. They rush Christopher into surgery. Eddie collapses into a waiting room chair. He looks at the time and swears, is dialing Buck before he can think. 

“Hey, Eddie,” Buck answers. He sounds tired but otherwise cheery.

“H-hey, Buck. Are you still at the 118?” They’re on separate shifts today. Buck should be leaving just as Eddie’s coming in. 

“Yeah, just packing up. Shouldn’t you be here already?”

“That’s why I’m calling,” Eddie says. “Can you tell Bobby that I’m not going to make it in today? I’m at the hospital with Christopher.”

It takes a few seconds for Buck to reply. “Sure, but Eddie, what’s wrong with-”

His voice cuts off. Eddie lowers the phone from his ear. The screen is black. Of course. None of the hospital employees who pass by have a charger that matches. He tries to call Buck back using the landline at the nurses' station but doesn’t get a response. 

An hour passes, and the doctors come to find him. Christopher’s appendix didn’t burst. There’s no risk of further infection. It was a routine, laparoscopic surgery. Should recovery go as planned, he would be able to take Christopher home in twenty-four hours. 

Eddie lets the fear drain out of his body and finds himself spent. But he needs to stay awake. He needs to see Christopher. He needs to call Buck.

He rides the elevator down to the lobby, in search of bad coffee, and is shocked when he sees Buck is already there, hounding the receptionist.

“Please, I’m looking for my friend. I just need to know if he’s here. His name is Eddie Diaz. His son’s name is Christopher Diaz. I’m not family, but look, he gave me a call, and now he’s not answering me. I need to make sure he’s all right.”

“Buck?”

Buck turns to him, wild-eyed, staggers over. “Oh, Eddie, oh thank god. Where is Christopher? Eddie, is he okay?”

“It was his appendix,” Eddie says. “I was scared, but Buck, he’s going to be fine.”

“Thank god,” Buck repeats. His breath hitches. “You hung up on me.”

“Phone died,” Eddie murmurs. They stand across from one another, swaying. The barrier between them trembles, gossamer thin, barely a shimmer, ready to break. “How did you find me?”

“I checked the hospital nearest to your house first, but then I figured, you’d probably head for Children’s if it wasn’t life threatening.”

“Oh.”

“Here,” Buck says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a white cord and adapter. “Take my charger. They won’t let me stay, so call me when he wakes up.”

Eddie’s fingers are shaking when he accepts it. If Eddie asked Buck for a hug, in this moment, would that be taking advantage? 

He doesn’t need to worry. Somehow, Buck can already sense the request. He reels Eddie in.

* * *

Eddie drags the washcloth down Christopher’s body, careful to avoid the adhesive strips. It’s only been a few days, but he already looks thinner to Eddie. The pain meds nauseate him, making it hard to keep anything down, so Eddie’s been slowly weaning him off. Pepa drops off a brew of ginger tea for him to sip on, and it seems to help. 

“How are you feeling?” Eddie asks. 

Christopher must be getting tired of that question because he rolls his eyes. “I’m fine, Daddy.”

“Good,” Eddie says. He slides Christopher’s arms through the sleeves of a clean pajama shirt. “I’m going to go make you some breakfast, okay?”

“Okay.”

Eddie scrambles a few eggs and drops them in a pan on low. He sorts through their mostly empty fridge, making a mental list of everything he needs to buy, until he hears the doorbell ring.

Eddie opens the front door, and Buck is standing there, arms ladled with plastic bags. There has to be at least ten of them, and of course, Buck attempted to haul them all from the car in one trip. He has his own set of keys to Eddie’s house but probably couldn’t reach them.

“Sorry I didn’t text,” Buck says in a rush. “I was just out, and I figured, maybe you wouldn’t have been able to go out for groceries. So I stopped and picked up a couple of things I thought you might need for the week. Also, I was really hoping that I could see-”

Buck doesn’t get to finish that sentence because Eddie stretches out his arms, fingers clasping the back of Buck’s neck, and drags Buck’s mouth down to his own.

Eddie breathes him in, and Buck makes a little choking noise before dropping all of his bags to the porch. His thumbs dip into the hollows of Eddie’s hips, and Eddie groans. The nails of Eddie’s index fingers dig into the space behind Buck’s ears, drawing him closer. Deeper. 

“Wait.” Buck pulls back. “Eddie, wait. What about Ana?”

Eddie leans against the doorframe, panting. Buck’s lips are red and wet. Eddie leans in and presses a thumb to the lower one, watches the color fade out then bleed back in when Eddie releases it. It’s possible he’s never been more instantly aroused, and at the very least, not by groceries.

“We broke up. Two weeks ago.” Eddie looks down and sees a puddle of white liquid spreading across the step. He starts to giggle, a little hysterical. “I think something else broke.”

“I bought almond milk,” Buck says, voice so quiet, it’s almost a whisper. Eddie just laughs harder. He lifts half of the bags and tells Buck to come inside.

In the kitchen, Eddie places the busted carton in the sink. Buck starts to unload the groceries. Bread, peanut butter, orange juice, a box of firecracker popsicles. Just when Eddie thinks he couldn’t love him anymore. Buck’s always been good at overcoming impossible odds.

“Is something burning?” Buck sniffs.

The eggs! Eddie sprints to the stove, lifts the lid off the pan, and slides it from the heat. He waves at the steam with an oven mitt. They’re a little brown and crusty on the bottom, not appetizing, but, “I think the top half is still edible.”

Buck chuckles. From one of the shopping bags, he pulls out a box of individually packaged fruit cups, the kind that Christopher takes in his lunch box. “How about peaches?”

Eddie forces him up against the fridge, sliding a leg between Buck’s, capturing his lips again. They kiss, and Eddie marvels at the feeling of Buck’s hard chest, lifting against Eddie’s own. The firmness of his rear, and the grunt when Eddie squeezes. It’s different, but _good_. If what he felt for Ana was a dull roar, then this is a shriek. An inferno. Eddie thought that he didn’t want passion, but he finds that with Buck, there’s more weight beneath it, more trust. There’s solid ground to stand on. He isn’t afraid.

“I’m not good at this,” Eddie says. “I’ll never claim to be. I’ve only ever dated three people, Buck. I’ve never had sex with anyone but Shannon.”

“It’s okay, Eddie.” Buck leans his forehead against Eddie’s shoulder. “You don’t have to explain, and you don’t have to be perfect. You aren’t in this alone.”

“Shannon and I were a disaster,” Eddie continues. “Sometimes, I thought that all we were good at was the sex. That came easy. It was the other parts we struggled with. We didn’t believe in each other. We didn’t make decisions together. But you have to understand, it’s the only frame of reference I had for what a partnership should and shouldn’t be.”

Buck nods, intent. “I do. I understand.”

“That was until I joined the 118,” Eddie says. “Until we started working together. I always knew that what you and I had was good, but even then, I didn’t know what it could be. I never imagined…”

“We still made it here, didn’t we?” Buck asks. “And you can take your time, Eddie. I promise, you can have as long as you need.”

Eddie shakes his head. “I want this. You. All of the versions. One-point-o, and three, and everything in between.”

“You never even met Buck 1.0. He was a handful,” Buck jokes.

“Doesn’t matter,” says Eddie. “Self-improvement is great, but Buck, you don’t have to become someone new, somebody else. Each of those versions is you, aren’t they? I’ll love them all the same.”

“In what way?”

Eddie takes Buck’s hand and guides it between them, places it against his chest, to feel the pounding of his heart when he says, “All of them. Every way.”

Buck kisses him, clenching the fabric of Eddie’s shirt. He pulls away to tell Eddie he loves him. Beams when Eddie returns it.


End file.
